


Towels

by Circadienne



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Multi, Swimming Pool, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Circadienne/pseuds/Circadienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's as close as I ever get to fluffy-kitty-sunshine-and-rainbows fic, because A. and I were both having bad weeks and sometimes, dangit, a person needs two thousand words of the Doctor, Amy, and Rory going swimming.  If you are, like me, that person, here: it is exactly what it says on the tin, and about as close to a cheerful story as I am capable of writing.</p><p>Set sometime after 5/31:07 "Amy's Choice."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towels

There's a little card by the doorway, printed in an antique script with the words _Swimming Pool_; handwritten below that, in block letters, is _Remember your towel!_ and below that, in a second hand, a slanting, loosely-looped _or don't_.

"This must be it," Amy says, and leads the way into a dimly-lit tunnel, narrow and arch-roofed, that winds and twists and turns back on itself three times before finally opening out into a huge room that seems to be mostly full of water.

It's the motion that catches Rory's eye first. The Doctor is long and pale, underwater, pushing off the far wall, which is quite a ways off, and kicking back toward them. Rory wonders for a moment what peculiarity of alien physiology permits him airlessness that long, even as he's skinning out of his own t-shirt and dropping his shorts off one foot. The pool deck is damp and strangely rubbery, underfoot, but it's not underfoot for long. He stretches out, hands before him, a racing dive carrying him forward and out. And then the water is, well, water, about like usual. It's warmer than the village pool, and a little salty in his mouth and nose. He has a sudden flash of chlorine and the clang of changing-room lockers, shakes them out of his mind as he shakes the water off his face, surfacing, and opens his eyes.

He's naked, in a swimming pool, in an alien spaceship, a deep basin full of warm water in a cavernous great dim room with rounded edges, and it's a sign of how very, very weird the last couple of weeks have been that it all seems rather restful.

Amy's a spot of bright color and long legs at the edge of the water, laughing down at the Doctor. Who's hanging onto the side of the pool, both hands out of the water, face turned toward her, hair water-dark and slicked down against his skull.

"Really?" he's saying, incredulously, and she giggles back at him. He half-turns in the water and asks Rory, "Did you know there was anything she's not good at?"

"Swimming!" Rory calls out, cheerfully, kicking back into a back-float just because he can. The ceiling glows purple-grey, light reflecting off the water and rippling across it. "She's dreadful. Splashes and sinks."

"Oh, shut up! Just because your mum dragged you to all that stuff!"

"Jealousy!" he calls back, voice echoing strangely against the curving walls. "You still wish you'd come in third in the backstroke at the 2006 county championships!"

"Oh hah," she replies.

"Did you really?" the Doctor asks.

"Why would I lie about a thing like that?"

"Did you get a prize?"

Rory kicks through the water toward them, arms sculling slowly. "My dad bought me an ice cream after," he says to the ceiling, or maybe the Doctor.

"That's quite good, as prizes go," the Doctor says.

"I thought so," Rory says, and catches the pool rim with one hand, without looking back for it.

"Chocolate almond?" Amy asks, archly.

"S'always chocolate almond, innit?" he says, grinning. "Best thing in the world, chocolate almond ice cream."

"Better than me?" she asks, and he's quite sure she's faking the indignation.

"Second best thing in the world, then," he corrects himself.

"Better than me?" the Doctor asks, eyebrow quirking up, and he has no idea if that tone of voice is petulance or honest curiosity.

Rory rolls his eyes. "You're not in the world, are you?"

"Point," the Doctor concedes. "But at least I'm in the pool. Come on, Amy Pond, come in swimming."

"Or splashing and sinking," Rory adds, unhelpfully. "It's not like we'll leave you to drown horribly. I think he swims nearly as well as I do," he says, and jerks his head toward the Doctor.

"Can you even touch the bottom in there?" she asks, leaning forward to look over the edge.

"Sure," the Doctor says, and disappears under the surface. He's gone for what feels like an impossibly long time but which is probably about a minute and a half, and well before he resurfaces, Rory's caught Amy's eye and they're both laughing. "See, it's right where I left it —" he says when he comes up, pushing his hair back out of his eyes, and that just makes them laugh harder. "What! It's not like it matters how deep it is, you mostly swim in the top part anyhow. And this is the deep end."

She's still laughing, but she's pulling the red top off and throwing it back toward the wall, and he catches his breath again, like he always does, at the sight of her — all that skin. And the freckles. And the curves. She grins at him and he pulls his eyes back up to focus on her face, and then she snickers, grabs her nose and says, "All right, in I go," and steps into the water, the other hand waving over her head.

She's spluttering when she comes up, flailing, and the Doctor catches at one arm and tows her over to the side. "That is deep!" she exclaims.

"Told you," Rory says. "And see, you're still alive."

"I certainly feel alive," she mutters, wiping water out of her eyes with the hand that's not clutching the side of the pool. She's giving Rory that look, through half-lidded eyes, and then she's giving the Doctor the same look, that little smile starting to lick at the corners of her mouth, and Rory can't help starting to smile, too, because he so knows that look, and then —

"We could have a race," the Doctor says, nervously, turning from her to Rory.

"I'd win," Rory says, tipping his head back into the water to rinse his hair out of his face.

"Well, maybe," he replies, "I'm not as coordinated as I used to be. Too much —" He gestures with one dripping hand. "It's all elbows and knees and things, this time around."

"You're a mooncalf," Rory says, to the wall, and the Doctor splutters a bit and Amy wonders aloud how he even knows a word like that. "It was a very comprehensive comprehensive," he tells her. "You remember Mr. Whooten."

"I remember pitying you for having Mr. Whooten."

"I once had lunch with him," the Doctor interjects.

"Mr. Whooten?" Rory says, disbelieving.

"Nah, Shakespeare. Nice fellow. Bit handsy, but otherwise —" and then whatever he was going to say is lost, because Amy's made her move.

Rory's stomach clenches, watching her kiss him, and for a second he thinks he was wrong and this isn't at all okay with him. And then his heart beats again, again, and suddenly it's perfectly okay, better than okay, and so when the Doctor pulls away and says, turning to Rory, "I didn't — she's very — there — I'm —" Rory grins at him.

"We've talked," he says, gesturing between himself and Amy.

"You've talked? You've talked? Who was going to talk to me?" the Doctor says, voice rising. "What if I don't want to talk?"

Amy glances down into the water. "Oh, you want to talk."

"Well, all right, a person can't help wanting to talk sometimes, but what if I think talking is probably a very bad idea?"

"Why? Can't a person have a nice conversation with other nice people once in a while?"

"Nice people? You can't come up with an argument better than _nice people_?"

Rory sighs. "I'm very nice. She's not, but you knew that —"

She can't swim, but she can splash. He's wiping at his face, and then there's another hand there, sluicing the water away, and he doesn't have to open his eyes to know it's not Amy's.

"Has she talked you into this?" the Doctor murmurs. "Because you're both very young, and I'm very problematic, and —"

Rory decides it's maybe his turn to shut him up. Which is, he thinks as the Doctor's mouth opens under his, kind of funny, because it's not the first time Amy's gotten him to kiss a bloke, but it's the first time he's been even a little bit enthusiastic about the prospect.

"Oh," the Doctor says, finally, when they pull apart. His face is flushed.

"You don't have to be an ass about it," Rory tells him.

The Doctor raises an eyebrow. "Do you have to be an ass about it?"

"I'd rather not."

"All right then."

"Good, that's settled," Amy says, "and you didn't even have to compare dicks." They both stare at her, and she cracks up.

"We did that days ago," the Doctor says, seriously.

She launches herself at him, at them, really —Rory's got a handful of ass and then there's one leg, wrapped familiarly around his hip, and the long, warm length of the Doctor beside him. The Doctor looks up from kissing Amy and he's got that expression he usually has just before he races down a corridor, the manic edge over the excitement.

"I think I'm figuring this out," he says.

"Oh, God," Amy exclaims, her vowels broad, and Rory leans in and kisses her, because, well. Naked Amy. He's not stupid.

There are a surprising — or perhaps not so surprising — number of elbows, and a lot of giggling, and kissing, and Amy talks, almost constantly, about everything from how much she likes his hands and the Doctor's shoulders and both of their mouths, oh, oh, their mouths _on_ her right there, just like that, to how very, very much she wishes there were such a thing as decent waterproof lube, to how he has to slow down, damn it, she is enjoying herself, here. But then she usually does that during sex, so he's used to it.

What he's not used to is obvious, and hesitant, and has very large hands, one of which closes hard around Rory's upper arm about a half-second before he whites out into orgasm. And it seems very natural, somehow, after that, to lean back into that other set of arms. Just for a moment.

Then the Doctor's shifting around him, smoothly taking Amy up in his arms, and Rory thinks, hazily, that this is nothing like the first time the other man has done this sort of thing. Which is a comfort. You don't want to think that your girlfriend is the biggest — his mind supplies an obviously inappropriate word, then moves on to something maybe better — the biggest libertine someone's run into in almost a thousand years.

They're moving, together, and it's simultaneously beautiful and hot and, a small clear part of his brain says, slightly ridiculous to look at when you're not the one doing it. He rests an arm on the side of the pool and threads the fingers of his other hand through Amy's clutching ones, so that both their hands are resting on the Doctor's back. Rory tips his head onto her shoulder and shuts his eyes and feels, under his cheek and along his side, the shudders as she climaxes, listens to her groan with it, drops a kiss onto one damp clavicle.

He feels the tension in the other man's back, and, greatly daring, eyes still closed, he leans forward and kisses the Doctor's shoulder, too. Which is answered with a hiss of breath, a guttural sound, and then a couple of violent and unmistakable movements that make Amy cry out again.

There's a long moment, then, of warm water and hard breathing.

"Oh, God," Amy says, finally, again, and he opens his eyes. She's got her head tipped back against the edge of the pool, wet hair all over the deck, and she's grinning.

"I'm very flattered, but I'm not actually —" the Doctor says, smirking, and Rory can't let that go.

"She's talking about me," he says, and that gets a laugh out of both of them.

"Oh, well, in that case, I do beg your pardon," the Doctor replies.

"You're both fabulous," Amy says, "but what I really want is a towel. Are there towels?"

The Doctor gives her a regretful look. "Alas, the TARDIS lacks towel service. I keep hoping she'll change her mind about that, but —"

"Too bad," says Rory.

"There is, however, a sauna," he says, smugly, and Rory snickers and pulls himself out of the pool.

**Author's Note:**

> "I want smutty Amy/Rory/Doctor swimming pool fic, now, and the internets aren't providing," I said to A. "Is that really so much to ask?"
> 
> Well, apparently it was. So I wrote some. It falls, in my mind, sometime not very long after the fifth/thirty-first season episode "Amy's Choice," because Rory's little grin at the end of that completely busted me up. The fantastic [maps of the TARDIS](http://community.livejournal.com/dwfiction/2794749.html) that were circulating last month reminded me of my childhood conviction that the Doctor is one of the world's great indoorsmen -- I love the idea of the TARDIS as following along in the kid-lit tradition of big weird houses full of mystery (and, for slightly older children, entertaining places to get laid).


End file.
